


lionprelude

by redamantian



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst, Freeform, M/M, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-21
Updated: 2019-08-21
Packaged: 2020-09-23 13:23:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20340802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redamantian/pseuds/redamantian
Summary: Even in dreams, you are always chasing after him.You never quite have the time to wonder if he wants you to follow.





	lionprelude

**Author's Note:**

> recommended: lionsuite by gestalt (opb. skylar grey and björk)

_everywhere, a wilderness_  
_we’re all out of our minds_  
_everyone’s an animal  
_ _even you and i_

\---

This is just a dream.

You know it when you see him: the crown prince of Faerghus, peering out into the valley below, a curtain of soft gold falling past his ears. The tops of his cheeks are bitten pink from the wind, round and baby-sweet. A dream, for sure. Memory of days long gone.

Of course, the two of you have always had a knack for adventure. Today you are knights—or are you mercenaries? pirates? you never did care, as long as you got a chance to swing your sword—trekking into the wild countryside to secure provisions for your men.

_We are sure to encounter all manner of beasts along the way_, Dimitri lectures, always two or three steps ahead as you march through the underbrush. _It will be a dangerous journey, not for the faint of heart._

The prince is not faint of heart. This, at least, you know to be true. Jury’s still out on you.

You know that he’s trying to scare you, but he does not know that you have seen worse (you have seen hell, you have seen _him)_, so you suppose you can forgive him, just this once.

He speeds up and you chase him down into the valley, struggling to match his strides. Long-limbed even as a child, three of your steps equal two of his, and he sets a punishing pace.

Even in dreams, you are always chasing after him. You never quite have the time to wonder if he wants you to follow.

He is not the only beast, but he is the first you cannot bring yourself to cut down.

You realize it for the first time on the battlefield—a rebellion crushed, a pencil sketch of a boy inked in blood. Heady, manic laughter, soaked in bitter rust. Even you, child of the blade, cannot swallow your disgust at the brutal revelry in his eyes, the carnage he’s created

_but he is full of swift and wicked grace, even as you snarl and spit and call him beast_

_(but it burns you from the inside out, to think that he is still the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen)_

You're no stranger to mourning. Your brother has been gone for years. You've made your peace with it. But this—this is a sort of grief that refuses to relent. A dead man who doesn't know that he's dead.

So: you do what you can. To remind yourself, over and over again, that what stands before you is nothing but a hollow shell, _a beast craving blood,_ and someday you may have to raise your sword to cage him.

It—doesn’t quite work, but you fool yourself well enough.

When autumn drapes itself across the countryside in your seventeenth year, soft and resplendent, the monastery softens you. Some of your classmates complain about the newfound chill in the air, but compared to the Kingdom, these moments of low-slanting sun in the afternoons are something precious, tender.

It is on one of these afternoons, lazy and sun-drunk, that you let down your guard.

You invite the boar prince for a spar.

In retrospect, maybe you should have realized it sooner—the way your heartbeat quickens when he lunges for you, lance extended to catch but not to kill. Something in the way the sunshine clings to those idiotic bangs he’s had since you were children. You are shocked by the ease with which he meets your thrusts, all broad shoulders and long limbs. When you meet his eyes, they are sharp, focused, _lucid_.

He scores a solid hit to your ribcage, knocking the breath out of your lungs and your body to the ground, and these three truths crash into you at the exact same time:

  1. This is a beast masquerading as a man.
  2. This is a man masquerading as a beast.
  3. You would follow him into hell, if it meant you could stay by his side.

The months that follow are not easy. Betrayal after betrayal colors the skies gray above Garreg Mach, and with every battle you watch the darkness under that pretty mask seethe and bubble and boil just a little closer to the surface. It’s starting to get to a point where it’s not just you who notices.

_Hurry up and cage the wild boar_, you tell the professor, sharper than you mean to be. You’ve never been good with words. _Look, he’s losing his grip. Even in his swordplay, he’s getting sloppy. If he keeps progressing like this, he’s going to get himself killed—_

Huh.

How odd, to be so concerned for the fate of a beast.

Five years later, you watch the boar—

(no_, _Dimitri)

_—the beast—_

(no, it's _him)_

—it. You watch _it._ You watch it unmake itself, completely and utterly, unraveled in front of this ruined cathedral. Raving at a pile of stone.

It cuts an imposing figure in the low light, furs draped over its shoulders, long-matted with blood and far too heavy for the climate. Fitting for the crown prince of Faerghus, exiled and haunted by the ghosts of those he left behind.

The beast _(the boar, the prince, Dimitri)_ paces and stumbles, mumbling and trembling and crying out in equal measure. The sour of death and rot cling to it like a second skin. You watch from behind a pillar and try not to throw up.

Those godforsaken bangs have only gotten worse with time—a curtain of brittle, filthy straw—but at least they block your view of its face.

Moonlight spills cold through the ruined ceiling of the cathedral. The old oaken doors creak open, thunderous in the quiet. The professor—of course, the professor, who else would know how to fix this?

You spare no time in pulling them behind the pillar, gesturing viciously at the boar _(the beast, the prince, your friend)_, swaying gently in front of the rubble.

_I can hardly look at the thing in the state it's in,_ you snarl. You haven’t always done this, dressed your pain and helplessness in fury, but you haven’t cried since you were thirteen, and you’re sure as hell not about to start now. _Do something about it._

Surrounded by ruin, Dimitri

_(you miss him_

_you love him_

_more dearly than anything you’ve both lost, you love him)_

throws his head back

_(your throat is tight_

_your cheeks are wet)_

screams enough for both of you.

\---

_everywhere, a wilderness_  
_the wolves come out at night_  
_i will not tame no animal  
_ _but you’re my favorite kind_

**Author's Note:**

> *youtuber voice* don't forget to like comment and subscribe


End file.
